Win or lose, she’d walk away knowing she’d given the competition her all.
Misha squeezed her hands together when the intro music for the show started up and the audience began to clap again. Her throat constricted as the anticipation of the moment infused every cell in her body. Shannon breezed back into the spotlight and graciously quieted the crown before moving over to the judges table.
“Ladies and gentleman, the judges have cast their votes and I have the results here in my hand.” Shannon waved an envelope. “Who will be our Celeb Chef? Let’s find out. Misha and Jackson, if you would please step forward.”
Misha moved to the designated spot in front of the judges’ table with Jackson. She cast him a quick glance and the smug smile he gave her before looking away confirmed once and for all how badly she wanted to win. She looked at Cameron, hating her need to be back in his arms, or at least holding his hand, despite the questions she wanted to ask him.
A hush fell over the audience and Misha tore her eyes from him to look at Shannon. Her heart was in her throat as Shannon opened the envelope and let out a mini squeal.
“Chef Ryan is our
Celeb Chef
winner!”
Misha clasped her hand to her mouth and the sound of the thunderous applause drowned out her gasp. She turned to Jackson with wide eyes. “Oh, my God.”
“Congratulations.” Jackson managed a smile as he held out his hand to her.
She shook it, tears blurring her vision as Shannon came over to her to present her with the coveted
Celeb Chef
stainless steel knife. Misha stared at her name embossed on the gleaming surface, shaking her head in disbelief that she’d won. Shannon was speaking to the audience then to her, congratulating her as the judges stood and applauded her. She was expected to say something, but what she actually managed to say went by in a blur as well. Her gaze shifted from Shannon’s to Cameron’s and something twisted within her that had nothing to do with winning the show. Hands were on her back and cheers arose from her team as they toasted her with the pomegranate mimosas they’d served earlier. Confetti fluttered overhead as Misha commended them all in a dazed fog, anxious to leave.
Anxious to talk to Cameron.
She couldn’t get fully swept away in the moment, not with the questions she needed to ask him swirling in her head.
* * * *
Two and a half hours after the taping of the finale, Cameron opened the door to his hotel suite. Drinks with the other judges hadn’t distracted him at all. He immediately checked his hotel phone for any messages and cursed upon learning there were none waiting to be heard.
Misha’s out celebrating her win, relax.
She probably was. He pushed back his frustration about not being invited. She’d told him her sister and friends had flown in to be with her. It made sense that she didn’t have time for him, except it didn’t. The last few days, they’d stayed in constant contact with one another either through text messages or phone. He hadn’t heard from her in hours.
Something was wrong. He’d seen it in her body language and written all over her face the moment he’d seen her walk to her station. Her text to him moments before had seemed off too, and she’d barely looked at him during the entire show. No new text? No call?
Yeah, something was definitely up.
Cameron lifted his phone, hopeful the moment it started ringing, and cursed again when he saw the number. “Hello, Dad. Is everything okay?”
Stephen Banner snorted. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because you’d never call me otherwise.”
“I’m calling to congratulate you on your television debut. I think doing the show was a savvy business decision.”
Cameron didn’t bother to thank his father for his words—he knew there was a reason they had been spoken. He shook his head when his father cleared his throat.
“Will you do another season?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Why? This could give your restaurants a major boost.”
Cameron loosened his tie more roughly than needed. “My restaurants are doing well, have been doing well. I don’t need to be a judge on a reality television show to bring people in.”
“More publicity is never a bad thing, unless it’s bad publicity.”
“Got it.” Cameron walked over to the window and looked over the city lights. “How’s Mom?”
“She can’t stop talking about you being on television. I think she’s convinced you’ll get her on the red carpet next.”
Cameron laughed despite his annoyance. “She’d fit right in.”
“Probably.” His father cleared his throat. “Something interesting happened.”
Here we go.
“What’s that?”
“Shawn Rill called me.”
“What did he want?” Cameron’s gaze narrowed as he stared out of the window.
“He mentioned the multi-million deal he offered you to be a returning judge on
Celeb Chef
. We discussed a tie-in for our hotels, possibly using one of them for a future taping of the show. This could be an awesome business opportunity for Banner Hotels, Cameron.”
“What else did Shawn say?” Cameron asked more calmly than he was feeling. He’d decided he was done with
Celeb Chef
the moment Shawn had come to him about Misha.
“That’s it. We agreed to meet and talk details after the finale. So, you should really reconsider telling Shawn no. This could be great for Banner Hotels and your businesses.”
“Do you even know the names of my two restaurants, Dad?”
“Tell me.”
Cameron turned away from the glass. “Look, I’ve gotta go.”
“Wait, what about Rill’s deal?”
“I already told you. I want nothing to do with Rill.”
Stephen cursed. “You don’t get how huge this could be for us.”
“For you, Dad, for
you
. Tell Mom I’ll call her tomorrow evening when I’m at the airport. Goodnight.” Cameron ended the call, completely on edge. Talking to his father always did that to him. He tossed his phone on the bed and stripped out of his clothes, deciding the gym was the best place to work out his aggression.
Chapter Thirteen
Cameron was glad the gym was closed when he finally got there. He used the key the hotel manager had given him to unlock the door. Safety lights provided some illumination and he didn’t bother turning on any more lights. The darkness matched his mood, which had somewhat improved thanks to his brother’s call shortly after talking with their father. He hadn’t even mentioned his conversation with their dad to Oliver. There was no point in putting his brother in the middle of what he intended to be a non-argument.
Cameron approached the treadmill facing the window and got on. He placed his cell beside the display, pushed the power button on the machine and began walking. It annoyed him that he still allowed his father’s words to get under his skin. With a muttered curse, Cameron picked up his pace, knowing that the real source of his aggravation was not hearing from Misha. He would call her if she hadn’t dialled his number by the time he went to bed.
Cameron welcomed the familiar burn in his muscles and began to jog. He kept his eye on his distance and speed, making a conscious effort not to look at his phone. He was two miles into his run when his cell lit up. Without breaking stride, he picked up his phone to read the text from Misha.
I know it’s late. Are you still up?
Cameron hit the button on his cell allowing him to speak his reply rather than type it. “I’m up.”
He sent the two word response, glad that the device recognised his voice despite his breathing. Two seconds later, he lifted his phone to read the incoming message.
I can’t sleep until I talk to you.
Her words almost made him smile.
I’m in the gym. Come up and meet me.
Misha answered him quickly.
Okay. Ten minutes or less.
Cameron put his phone down and jogged faster. He slowed down six minutes later, gradually returning to a brisk walk as he started his warm-down. A soft knock on the door behind him brought him to a stop. He got off the machine and walked to the entrance of the gym. Cameron smiled at Misha through the glass pane but her slight hesitation to return it bothered him as he let her in.
“Did I mess up your workout?” Misha moved past him, gorgeous in a fuchsia cashmere sweater and a dark pair of jeans that hugged her rounded ass.
“No, I just finished when you knocked.” Cameron locked the door behind them and joined her by the window next to the treadmill he’d been on.
Misha looked around. “Do you usually exercise in virtual darkness?”
“I don’t need much light to do my thing on the treadmill.”
He glanced at her mouth, wanting to taste the slight grin that played across her lips.
“I suppose not. I would’ve thought the gym would be closed at this time.”
“Normally, it would be.” Cameron grabbed his towel off the machine and wiped his brow.
Misha nodded. “Ah, special privileges for the celebrity chef.”
“Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?”
“Not at all.”
Cameron studied her. “Okay, but I’m picking up on something. What’s wrong? I haven’t heard from you since you won.”
“I texted you.”
“Yes, but I expected more than your brief update about dining with your sister and friends.”
“Did you tell Shawn Rill about us?”
Cameron frowned. “No, I didn’t. I know you wanted this”—he gestured between them—“kept private. I would never violate your trust like that. Frankly, I can’t believe you’d even ask me that question. Telling Rill would mean I didn’t give a damn about you, that what’s been going on between us meant nothing to me, nothing more than sex. Is that honestly what you think?”
“I didn’t think you’d put me out there like that.” Misha watched Cameron toss his towel back on the treadmill and grab the bottle of water on it before he looked at her again, his gaze hard.
“You entertained the thought or you wouldn’t have asked me the question.”
Cameron took a drink, momentarily distracting Misha with a tantalising view of his biceps and the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his broad chest.
“Look, he made it seem like you were concerned about bad press, implied it would be better for everyone involved if I just let Jackson win.”
“What an ass. I’m done being a judge on the show as long as he’s the executive producer.”
“He offered you another season?”
“He tried to negotiate a deal. I didn’t like the terms.”
“Wow.” Misha shook her head. “Those must’ve been highly disagreeable terms for you to walk away from what I’m sure was a very lucrative offer.”
Cameron shrugged. “Money isn’t everything, at least not to me. I think that continually surprises people in my life.”
Misha stared at him, knowing she wanted to be a part of his life for the unforeseeable future. She reached out and rubbed her fingers over his arm as the realisation hit her. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not trusting you. My gut reaction was that you’d never breathe a word of this”—Misha wagged her finger between them and Cameron almost gave her a full smile—“to Shawn.”
Cameron nodded. “I can understand you needing to ask me. I just wish you were where I’m at in my head in regards to us.”
“And where would that be exactly?”
“You don’t know?” Cameron took hold of her hand, laced his fingers in between hers and her heart leapt. “I know you feel it.”
Misha exhaled when he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him.
“The need to touch, to be close, get closer.”
“I do and it scares me.”
The heat from his body seemed to penetrate through her clothes. She lifted her face and the desire in Cameron’s eyes ramped up her own arousal.
“Why?”
Misha trembled against him. “This whole experience—being a part of
Celeb Chef
, spending time with you—feels like a dream, a surreal experience that is coming to a close.”
“The show being over has nothing to do with us.”
“Doesn’t it? The reality is your life is in New York and mine is back in Chicago. Our little spicy tryst ends whether we want it to or not.”
Cameron gently squeezed her hand. “What do you want, Misha?” A bead of sweat trailed down his face.
“Cameron—”
“Location and circumstances be damned, what do you want?”
Misha’s breath caught in her throat for a split second. “I want you.”
Cameron bent his head and kissed her hard, finally giving her a little of what she hungered for as his tongue possessively stroked hers. He pressed her up against the treadmill, released her hand and skimmed his fingers along her stomach beneath her sweater. She moaned when he cupped her breast and teased her nipple through the fabric of her bra. Misha brought her arms around his waist to squeeze his hard ass, feeling his erection against her belly. She wanted him more than she would have thought possible when he ended their kiss.
“I want you too, more than I did yesterday or the day before that. I couldn’t give a damn if you lived in Timbuktu.” Cameron slipped his hand inside her bra and tugged on the taut tip he’d been teasing. “I’m not ready to let you go.”
Misha reached between them and stroked his thick cock. “And I don’t want you to.” She kissed him again. “I’ve missed you all day, wanted to be with you all night. I’m sorry I didn’t call or text you.”
“Don’t be. It’s enough to know I was on your mind as much as you were on mine today.” Cameron caressed her other breast. “I knew something was wrong. Next time, don’t wait to tell me.”
“I won’t.” Misha stuck her fingers beneath the waistband of his shorts and underwear. She revelled in Cameron’s sharp intake of breath as she took hold of his hard length. “I want to make it up to you.”
“I think you already have.”
“Not yet.” Misha gave him a wicked smile. She glanced to her side, eyed a weight bench and looked back at Cameron. “Walk with me.” He moved with her to the bench and she kept her hand still around his cock. Misha sat down and glanced at the entrance of the gym. “The exercise equipment shields us from being seen.”
“Just what do you have in mind?”
“Your taste on my tongue.” Misha lowered his shorts and revealed his hard-on. The bench was the perfect height for what she wanted to do. Leaning forward, she kissed the tip and Cameron groaned when she took him into her mouth with a low moan she knew he could feel.